


The Story of My Life

by Captain_Kiri_Storm, LuckyGhost20



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game), DCU
Genre: Adventures, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Batman Adventures, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Flashbacks, For a Friend, Fun, Gen, Gotham City - Freeform, Humor, I Don't Know Much about this universe, John Doe - Freeform, Medical Trauma, Mutation, No Romance, No Smut, POV Joker (DCU), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, i'm not sure what i'm doing with this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-03 15:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13344423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kiri_Storm/pseuds/Captain_Kiri_Storm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyGhost20/pseuds/LuckyGhost20
Summary: Once there was a man without a name, a past, without anything that distinguished him from any other bum on the street. Except that he was found in a snowdrift with white skin and green hair. No name, no past, no identification, nothing to show who he was or what he came fromAnd this is his story





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuckyGhost20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyGhost20/gifts).



He was coming home. He was coming home with the man they said found him. But he knew that wasn't quite the man who found him. That man had a long black cloak, a grey bodysuit, and strange gloves. The man walking with him now was your average business man. Or what CNN said an average business man looked like.  He looked fairly tall, meaning he was about six foot two. He just looked like a big person. Steely blue eyes, dark hair. Close cropped ad fairly decently groomed. He looked at his own arms, surprised by the snow pale skin. His own bright green hair was like a lion's mane that he rarely bothered to comb. It was just too much hassle and he had too many books to read. The others were always surprised at how smart he was. As far as he cared, he just saw things that others missed.

"John Doe. Huh." The man who was taking him to a home looked over at the papers. He shook his head a little bit, dark hair flying some. "That's the name they hung on you. John Doe. They couldn't have been a bit more creative?"

He shrugged. "They needed a name." John scratched at his wrist some, not surprised that his skin broke and the bleed started spreading. That didn't hurt him, not any more than the pain already did. Phantom pains, the doctor said. The doctors said that his bones must have been broken and the nerves never repaired. John didn't know what to think about it. He just watched as the blood smeared over his wrist. It didn't hurt at all. He would have thought it would hurt. But there was no pain and he just watched the blood until Bruce covered the wound with a handkerchief. No one said anything about that, though, and they walked through the entire hospital in silence. John thought that he might like to smell something other than cleaners. He liked leaving a window open. Not just because he liked the smell, but because it annoyed people.

An older looking man with white hair was waiting before a long black car. John's internal databank supplied him with the facts that this was a limousine,  car typically driven by a large businessman. And it looked like this... Bruce Wayne? was such a man. John hummed some and walked quickly. He memorized all of the routes through the hospital and looked at the car. The man looked back at John. John shrugged at him. He didn't know if the man liked him or not, but he didn't care. He hummed a little bit more and picked at his skin. The picking and the humming drowned out the screaming in his head. He just didn't care. There was pain, but it was bright flashes against the raging storm that was his body.

"Where too, sir?" The older man sighed some and stepped back into the car. John watched him with cautious eyes. He wasn't sure what to do. The man just sighed and looked over at a strange tablet. There was a microchip in his neck, but he didn't care. It never hurt him. It wasn't like he was walking on bone splinters all the time.

"Home, Alfred." Bruce sounded tired, but he opened the door and got John to go in. John obeyed a little bit, but he was nervous. He looked around, not sure what he was supposed to do. Something pricked in the back of his mind, faint images of a cage and blood and pain, but it was gone within seconds. John shrugged some. He looked around as they drove through the city, looking up at all of the things. There were cities that touched the sky! There was snow falling from the sky as they drove and the sky was iron grey. The green haired man sighed some and curled up in a little ball. He thought about the snow, about waking up in a snowdrift, about feeling the cold numb him so he didn't feel the pain.

Pain was such a funny thing. There were little flashes of it and then there were waves that you never got rid of. The little flashes were so much worse than the great waves. The man sighed some. He just curled up some and looked out the window. Bruce said nothing. He just looked at the other man and gently cleaned his arms. None of the nurses had ever said anything about the blood. They just cleaned him up. He liked being cleaned up, but he didn't mind the blood. The blood was nothing. The blood just dried up and flaked away. John watched the man clean up his arms with a first aid kit. The antiseptic burned some, but it was a bright flash that vanished as soon as it vanished.

"What's home?" John asked. He relaxed back some and glared at the smiley face band-aids. They looked silly and he felt vaguely outraged. Why did he have to be wearing pink and yellow strips on his wounds?

"It's where we live," Bruce said. He huffed out a sigh and rested back. He didn't want anything, as far as John could tell, but he was very curious. So he watched as they went into the suburbs and over two a large house. It didn't look like the tacky McMansions you saw on TV, but it looked... different. Imposing. Like it was one of those castles he watched with Harley. Harley was like him, a person with no name and no past, but she refused to be Jane Doe. John just didn't care. He liked to joke that they could call him whatever, just as long as they called him for dinner. "I had some of the others get you a room ready. We don't know what you like."

"That's okay," John replied. "I don't know what I like either."

"And that's what I'm afraid of," Bruce muttered.

John didn't know why he cared. It wasn't like the other man had anything, just the clothes on his back and the strange chip in his neck. He had seen Doctor Zito using the same tablet computer Bruce had now. Was it Bruce? He rubbed his neck some and he felt over the old incision in his neck. But the strange man didn't care about that. He just cared that he was going away from that hospital. So he gave one of his strange nervous laughs as he exited the car. He had a feeling that things were about to happen, he just didn't know what they were. So he just sighed some and followed Bruce. He did, though, give the outside a long glance. He thought that there were eyes upon him.

But that would be madness?

Wasn't it?


	2. Was It Worth It All?

Bruce honestly hoped that he had made the right call. Was the Arkham Institution the best place for him like the doctors said? After all, John had...issues. And that was putting it mildly. The pain issue...that was never going to go away. The doctors thought that a lot of it was in his head, but there wasn't much else they could do about it. As strong as John was, too much medication would kill him. And, for some bizarre reason, he wasn't all that fond of needles. That just made things all that much more interesting. Just who _was_ this man? Bruce had seen the footage, he would _never_ be able to get the images out of his head, but those were two radically different men. One of them was Caucasian and had dark hair and eyes. This one... had skin like pale milk and acid green hair.

Also, he didn't respond to pain.

"Are we...home?" John asked. He rolled the word around home, like he was testing it out, and frowned. "That's such a funny word, home. Home...homo. That's what that weird guy on TV was talking about. He said that being homo was bad. Why are those two words so similar?" He didn't look up for a response though, and simply started picking threads out of his clothes. At least he wasn't trying to scratch himself anymore. Blood stains were hard enough to get out of clothing and Bruce had no desire to get bawled out by Mrs. Dawes about getting blood on his things. Again. And that was partially why he might have been designing his suits to be blood resistance. There were some times that you just did not want to get blood everywhere.

"We are." Bruce rubbed his head some as John gave another one of his weird laughs. The man was very innocent and he gaped at things like skyscrapers with the innocence of a child. It was such a strange thing, to watch a grown man gape at things and honestly be amazed by the wonders of every day life. Alfred gave Bruce a long and weary look when they stopped the car at the front of the manor. John jumped out of it quickly and looked around. He didn't look like he was going to bolt, and that was good, but he did look a little nervous. "It's going to be okay. You're out of the hospital, you're going to get a little bit of fresh air, and you can leave as many windows open as you like. Just as long as it's not raining."

"You know about that?" John looked over at him, confused. But he trailed after Bruce like an obedient puppy. Bruce made sure to keep an eye on him. One nurse's assistant made the mistake of not watching him carefully. The next thing everyone knew, a naked man with green hair was hanging upside down from a tree, throwing water balloons at passerby.

"I read your report," Bruce dryly replied. He rubbed his face some and knocked on the door. Why did he think this was a good idea? This was a man that sprayed ketchup on walls and screamed that he was being murdered. Or switched the salt bowl with sugar and vise versa. Or he'd turned the icons on his doctor's iPad into cats. He rearranged people's clothing drawers and threw underwear out the window. "You've been very busy. Though if you want to make realistic bloodstains, add vinegar to the ketchup to thin it out."

"Or you could use real blood!" John raised up his wrist, proudly displaying the real bloodstains on his pale skin.

"I think the key for a prank is fake, not real." He rubbed his head some and opened up the door. No one came to greet him, but he figured as much. Barbara was doing her own thing and Dick was likely busy with school. That said, he got a few minutes to settle John into his rooms before the chaos started. John was supposed to be a very smart man. Bruce already had his personal phone and electronics locked, but Dick didn't bother. Now, the reason was that he never could remember the password, but they had just brought a genius into the house. A genius that got _bored_. How bored did you have to be to think that hanging upside down in a tree naked was a good idea? And wouldn't that get cold?

They walked up the stairs and John was settled into his room. It wasn't nearly as big as the others, but it had the main bedchamber, an en suite bathroom, and a small sitting area. Bruce had gotten a selection of books and puzzles for the man, as well as a few mind games that he might like. He was just about to suggest that John work his puzzles when he saw that all four of them had been dumped out and mixed together. Bruce groaned and rubbed his face. _Now_ just what was he supposed to do?! He couldn't let John get bored. That was already proven to be a bad idea. He was just about to say something when John sat down and pawed through the puzzle pieces.

"I'm sorry." He tried to clear them away, but John stopped him with a quick shake of his head. "Really, John. They're all messed up. Someone poured them all together and now you can't..."

"I can." John shooed him away, flashing Bruce an innocent grin. "Are there other people? Please tell me there are other people! But only normal people, because I'm tired of all the crazy ones." He rubbed a hand through his acid green hair and started sorting the pieces into their own little piles. Bruce left him to it. He needed to have a little talk with Dick. Messing up other people's thing was not a good idea and he figured that John would figure out a way to make him pay for it.

The dark haired man rubbed his face as he went downstairs. Why was he getting the feeling that this was a bad idea?

Dick came charging up the stairs like a bull elephant. "Hey! Did he like my present?" At Bruce's stare, he continued. "You said he was really smart, so I mixed four one thousand piece puzzles together! That way he can have fun!"

Bruce didn't have anything to say to that one. Maybe it would keep John occupied for a few hours. He hoped.


	3. Chapter 3

Puzzles. Puzzles. Puzzles were such puzzling things. The little pieces looked like they would all go together _just so_ , but they never did. Whoever this "Dick" person was hadn't even left him the lids, so he would have an even harder time getting things the right way. He bit his tongue, like he did when he was bored, and he was very careful not to bite so hard that there was blood. Doctor Whynn said that people got scared when they saw blood dripping out of his mouth. John didn't know why. He just worked it out, quietly and patiently. There wasn't that much to do. He knew a prison when he saw one. But this one looked nice and he figured that he wanted to stay, so no pranks.

But if he found the person who made such a mess out of his nice puzzles...

Music filtered up to his room and John raised his head. He looked a little curious and slipped to the foot of the stairs. Even those who were mad looked at him like he was a monster, so he didn't want to scare someone. He was just curious. He just wanted to know where the pretty sounds were coming from. Some of the doctors had played music like this, but he hadn't been allowed to play it. It made him feel good inside, though. John tried not to laugh. He tried to be quiet so he could hear the music and not get in trouble. Bruce was nice to him. Bruce let him open the windows and gave him clothes that felt better instead of the scratchy clothes the doctors had given him. John liked Bruce.

He closed his eyes some and let the notes wash over his skin. What if he got to play the music? He thought he would be good at it. He had phantom memories of once playing something like that, but they vanished the second he touched them. John stood up some to try and not feel the grating bone on bone. His nerves were shot. He shouldn't have been feeling pain. But he didn't like the morphine because it made his head hurt and his mouth taste like dead, dried cotton. John slipped downstairs. He had never walked quieter, not even when he was trying to sneak up on the mean night nurse. She scared him. She looked like she wanted to kill him, so John made her life miserable. Slipping on a banana peel was just a minor thing for her.

A young woman with dark red hair was sitting on a piano bench playing. John cocked his head some and looked at her. He liked it. He liked the way the pretty music sounded and she looked nice. He tried not to worry his fingers too much. As much as the blood didn't bother him, he knew that it upset Bruce. He didn't want to upset his friend. He just wanted to know if he could sit at the piano and play it. It was like he could feel the music swelling inside of him and he wanted to play it. It needed to get out. Bruce stood up and said something to her before leaving. Soon, the young woman was gone and the piano was unattended. John sat down and pressed a few of the keys. He loved the way it sounded, so he pressed a few more.

The notes on the pages meant nothing to him. But he knew what sounded right and he needed to get the wild music out of his head and into the air. As he played, he could ignore the grating pain from old injuries (what old injuries?) and the burning from his nerves. His breathing eased some and he just played. Played because he wanted to play and he could let it all out. He didn't know that he was singing. Just nonsense lyrics, something from the phantom memories that fluttered there. He couldn't touch them, though. John didn't know why. They were his, but not his. He didn't care. He just let all of the music out and played. His flashing fingers didn't ache anymore and he truly felt free.

What if they had let him do this at the hospital? Would they have made him fee better? Would he be outside walking around like a real man instead of caged up here? He'd go mad, he knew. Bruce would be so mad that he would send John away and he would have to sleep on scratchy sheets forever.

Someone cleared his throat and John turned around real fast. He felt the music within him die and his shoulders slumped forward some. Now he was never going to get to finish! Bruce shook his head some and sat with him on the bench. John watched him. He didn't _think_ he was in trouble, but he'd been wrong before. Very, very wrong before. The last thing he wanted to do was be wrong here where it could cost him.

"It's time for dinner," Bruce calmly said. "As much as I loved listening to your concert, you need to eat. Even if it's just enough to keep body and soul together."

John pouted some. "Not hungry," he mumbled. But he did get up and he did follow Bruce to the dining room. It looked big and pretty, but they sat down like it was normal. A dark haired young man and the young woman were eating. John grabbed his own food and ate, watching them closely. He needed to eat and then get back to the puzzles. Music could come later when he was alone. He noticed that Bruce was messing with a tablet, possibly ordering something online. John wanted to get online. He'd heard about this thing called Netflix and he wanted to try it out.

"Do you have a Netflix password?" John blurted out. He started laughing uncontrollably out of sheer nerves and finally managed to clamp his jaws shut. Oh what fun this was going to be.

"Yup." Bruce didn't look up. "I'll give it to you tomorrow. But only if you let me give you the sleeping shot." John gave him the horrified look. He didn't like it! He had these terrible dreams that he never could remember once he got back up. He knew that they were bad, but he didn't know why. It was all so strange. Like his mind didn't want his body to understand. Or vise versa. Bruce sighed some and rubbed his hair. "Look. John. You have to sleep. Humans can only go three days without sleep. It's part of you staying here that I have to give you those shots so you can sleep. I know you don't like them, but it's for your own good. So after you're done with this, brush your teeth and change clothes. I promise it won't hurt."

"I'm not three." John jabbed the food with his fork. Just to make a point. But this was very good food, even if he really didn't like the mushrooms, so he just didn't eat those. But he ate all the rest of it.

"I know that." Bruce pinched his nose. He walked with John after the food and made sure that he was all ready for bed. John just looked at the wall, not at Bruce. He didn't want the shots. The shots made it worse. But he figured that he had to have the shots, so he let the other man prick him with the needle. It didn't matter when he drifted off to sleep. Just that he did and a terrible numbness filled his entire body. If John was being honest, he would rather have the terrible, burning pain than the empty feeling of the numbness.

It was better to feel pain than to feel nothing.


	4. The Nightmares in Your Eyes

Bruce heard the screaming around three AM. At first, he thought that Dick was playing a trick on him again and wanting him to think that Steppenwolf and his scouts had invaded again. The last time that had happened, he had wound up working with an Atlantean, an Amazon, a cyborg, and a teenage boy. That... han't gone over well. And then the Kyrptonian showed up to both make the joke complete and to make his life that much harder. Whatever sick SOB had decided to make Doomsday honestly needed to be smacked in the jaw. How that creature had survived getting a nuclear warhead dropped on it's head never ceased to amaze Bruce. He shook his head some, trying to understand where the crying was coming from.

It sounded...human, but not human. Wounded animal cries that were only getting worse every second.

He sighed and swung his legs out of bed. The last thing he needed to do was go follow the weird crying sounds that were filling the hallway. Hadn't the horror movies he watched as a kid taught him that was a bad idea? Bruce shrugged that off as he reached for a flashlight. He didn't need to wake the others up. He bit his bottom lip as he slipped through the darkened manor, trying to hear where the cries were coming from. For all he knew, there really _was_ a psychopathic ghost lurking around that wanted to eat his face. Or a parademon had escaped the boom tube and was trying to eat another human. Maybe he should have grabbed that plasma gun, just in case. You couldn't be caught unawares in this dog eat dog world.

The cries lead him to John's room. His new house-guest was curled up in the fetal position, arms around his head. He screamed loudly, drawn out and harsh. Babbling sounds filled the air and it was like he was begging. All Bruce could make out was the odd " _No! No! Please stop_!". The rest of it was all incoherent. The only pattern that was there could be found by John and only John. Bruce crouched beside the man and touched his shoulder. John flinched like he had been branded and _screamed_. Screamed bloody murder. Bruce hissed a curse and drew his hand back. The poor man was shaking like a leaf. He had an idea of how to wake him and figured that it needed to be done sooner rather than later. Otherwise, it was going to be a long night.

"John!" Bruce firmly grasped his shoulder and shook him some. John grabbed at it, his eyes screwed shut. Tears had pooled in the corner of the man's eyes and he gasped for breath. If Bruce was being honest, the man looked hideous. Now he understood why John was locked away from the public. "John! You have to get up! It's me, Bruce! Your friend. You remember me, right?"

John took a shuddering gasp and looked up at him. For a few horrible seconds, the dream still clouded his eyes but it was gone after that. Replaced by the man's odd green eyes and his shock of acid green hair. John let out a whimper and melted around the man. "Wha...wha happened? Brucie? Why'd ya wake me up? I was asleep like you said I was supposed ta be..."

"You had a nightmare." Clearly, he wasn't totally with it. Bruce flipped off the flashlight and sat beside him in the bed. John mumbled something and grabbed at the blankets. Bruce hoped that the drug was still working. "I heard you and I came to check on you. Just to make sure if you were okay." The man was still trembling like a leaf under his hands and that was a little worrying. "I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. It's what..." What was he to John? Friend? Maybe? "It's what friends do for each other." Yes, it was lame and yes Bruce knew it. But it was also three in the freaking morning and he wanted to get some sleep. Maybe John would conk back out and he could get the rest of the night off.

"I have a lot of nightmares," John mumbled. He yawned a little bit, probably fighting the effects of the drug. The younger man clutched at Bruce with tight fingers. "I don't remember any of them. It's very odd. Like there's something there, just out of reach, but it's gone the moment I try to touch it. I don't like it one bit. It really does scare me. One day, I wonder if I'll wake up with no memories."

The doctors had said it was a mercy that John didn't remember what had happened to him. That he would have gone even more mad if he did. Bruce gritted his teeth some and wondered how to explain this without lying. "I don't think you will, John. You're too smart for that. Remember that music you played for me? Just close your eyes and imagine you're playing that same piece. Only someone's there to record it so it won't be lost the moment you set it free. It's just you and the piano and the device that records it. You'll make copies of that music and make millions from it. So just close your eyes like you're playing something straight from your heart."

"I like that." From the tone of his voice, John was slipped back under again.

"So do I." Bruce slipped away from him and made sure he was asleep before he padded out of the room. The man paused before he closed the door. "Goodnight, John." But he said it so quietly, he thought that no one could hear it. Especially not the man sleeping in the bed he had just vacated.


	5. Chapter 5

He was bored. John had often been bored at the hospital, mostly because he read all the books they had several times over and because he wasn't allowed to get on the internet or watch Netflix. They said that it might upset him. John didn't know why. Didn't they know that he felt like he was walking on shards of broken bone all the time? He scratched the back of his neck, fingers ghosting over the strange little bump, as he worked. He wondered if Bruce knew all that could be made with basic cleaning supplies. Muriatic acid was so fun to play with. He hummed an old song that he was hearing on the radio as he worked. He had an idea that he could make something so he could sleep without the nightmares. Or he could make something for when Batman had to fight the next bad guy.

There were all sorts of internet theories about when Steppenwolfe would come back. Or if someone named Mr. Freeze would be coming around. Or the Underminer. This wasn't the safest time to be alive, so he needed to work.

John balanced on the armful of clothes he'd salvaged from the dirty clothes pile and quietly worked on his creation. A few droplets of the acid on his hand. He didn't flinch. He just tossed the droplets aside and wiped the hand off on his pants. The acid hissed where it started working on the concrete and the sharp tang of blood filled the air.He spat on the new wound. As expected, the enzymes in his saliva stopped the reaction and he went back to work. The man kept on mixing up the chemicals and he bit his bottom lip, trying not to take blood, as he made improvised gas grenades. They would have to work, but not work. Like sticky notes. They worked because they _failed_. And it was hard to make a machine to fail.

The old bathtub he'd found in the basement was reaction proof. John smiled a little bit as he worked. He had the other cleaning supplies scattered around him and he'd worked several metal balls into metal orbs. They were hollowed now and he was trying to make a divider. The muriatic acid didn't need to eat through the divider until it needed to be broken. So he could use glass, but glass was too fragile. He could use plexisteel, but plexisteel was too strong. The machine wouldn't fail like he needed it too (when it was thrown) and it would just be a deadly bouncy ball. Maybe he could use pyrex. Pyrex was strong enough but it would also break like he needed it too. Or milk glass. Milk glass would be the _best_.

A quick search on his new tablet showed that they had stopped making military grade milk glass (which was completely and totally non-reactive to _anything_ ) in 1945. And that just made his life all that much harder.

"Drat!" John still couldn't keep the good nature out of his voice, though. He huffed out a sigh as he kept on working. Okay. He could do this. He could find a good divider. Maybe he could carve up a few pyrex pans to fit. The cook said that you could bake plutonium in those things and then wipe it out. It would be good to eat out of then. Something about the sealed surface. He huffed out a little bit of a sigh and kept on working. He tried not to drip the acid on himself again, though. Bruce wouldn't be happy if he burned his hands off. But maybe that would stop the phantom stabbing pains. They mostly faded to the background when he worked, though. That was why he loved working on the chemistry stuff.

Out of curiosity, he dripped a little of his acid mixture on a batch of goopy, raw chicken. The cook (he hadn't learned her name yet) had mentioned they were eating chicken and gravy tonight. Maybe she could have the puzzle dumper go get some more chicken. John winced a little bit as the acid mixture made the meat bubble and twist before it was dissolved. Maybe... maybe he needed to tone this down a little bit. So it wouldn't kill the bad guys. Just knock them out. He hummed a little bit as he worked and started singing the song on the radio. He liked the music. It drowned out the pain in his body and made it so he could concentrate. He dripped a bit of the improved formula on the raw chicken.

That didn't dissolve nearly as fast as the other had. Good. So they could keep that formula and with the formula, it would create a gas that just knocked you out and didn't turn your lungs into a soupy mess. John gritted his teeth some as he worked. His lunch lay untouched beside him. He'd taken it from the lady with a promise to eat. He hadn't, mostly because he was too busy with this project right now. John needed to get this finished before Bruce came back home. Bruce might not be too happy with what he had done. And so he crouched on all of the stolen clothes as he worked. Maybe he could get used to this. Maybe he could just get this done really quickly and maybe Bruce would be proud of him, too.

"John?" Someone walked down the stairs and that someone sounded a lot like Bruce. John quickly finished up and washed his hands. He hoped that the injury would be washed off, but the water just made it worse and broke the surface of the wound.

"Bruce! I made something for Batman." John pulled his friend over and showed him the table and tub full of things he'd grabbed. He quickly explained about what he needed and the need for a good divider. Maybe  Bruce could get pyrex cast for him? And he could make the castings needed to keep it in place? And without further ado, he decided to give Bruce a live demonstration. He just needed to see if it would work so he could get some good sleep. He got a grenade's worth of gas ready, mixed it, and smiled as the smell washed over him.

The last thing he saw was Bruce yelling at him and then he smiled a little bit as he passed out.


	6. Injuries

Bruce didn't know what to do. Honestly, he didn't. None of the training he had ever done as Batman, or even some of the things Nightwing had shown him, could have prepared him for dealing with this right now. Mrs. Gordon had asked him to check on John after she had noted that he didn't come upstairs with the rest of them after he was done eating. As much as she didn't want to impose on the man, everyone knew that John had problems and he needed help. That being said, he couldn't guess as to what John was making or why it smelled like he was playing with battery acid. What he _did_ know was that his charge was toppling over and about to crack his skull on the porcelain bathtub.

If John broke his skull, Bruce would lose custody of him and be forced to turn him back into the Arkham Asylum. He was getting the feeling that John wouldn't do too well if he was forced to go back there, so he needed to act, and fast.

Somehow, he managed to snatch the man before he busted his head. Bruce sank to his knees, avoiding all the mess that John had accumulated, and quietly took his pulse. Whatever the man had used in here smelled rank and he was trying not to gag. He hoped that he didn't need to use whatever "gift" John had made for him. John's pulse beat string and steady under his fingers, but the man was still out of it. He wasn't moving. And that, that was not a good thing. John was usually very energetic and moved around almost constantly. Bruce swore softly as he gathered the feather light man up into his arms. A quick glance revealed that not only had he not eaten his lunch, he also hadn't been drinking the water bottles he was supposed to drink, either.

_Great. Just **great**. If the doctor decides to visit today, I'll lose him for sure!_

Bruce looked at the sleeping man in his arms. "There are easier ways for us to get you to sleep, you know. I could always ask my friend Nightwing. He's been tracing his family and meeting kin that he never knew he had. I think he would be happy to help you out, rather than have you pass out." He turned sideways and started going up the stairs. He needed to change the electronic locks, didn't he? If John had guessed them within only a week of being there... well, he was going to have to change things. He carried John into his room and settled him on the bed. He'd seen the bloodied hand. Bruce didn't want to know what he'd done to get that injury, but he did clean it and bind the wound. John deserved that much.

The hand worried him. He didn't want to think of what John had been doing to get injuries like that. He understood that he was supposed to care for the man, but John qualified for MENSA if the tests he'd been given were accurate. Bruce wasn't so sure that they were, but John was very quick and he was much smarter than he let on. He'd signed John up for a computer coding course online, just to give him something to do, only to find that John had completed the course in a week and was currently trying to reprogram his personal laptop. Bruce hated having parental controls on the computer of a grown man (how old was John? They didn't know and they didn't have teeth to match him with anyone), but there were some things that John just did not need to see.

He went looking for the first aide kit to see if they had the general antidote to gas. His father had been around during one of the great world wars and he remembered the stories of gas attacks all too well. There was a reason why they had antidotes to every major poison gas, from mustard gas to the rare and extremely deadly Lewisite. It had been Lewisite that Doctor Poison had been forced to recreate and Wonder Woman had destroyed. He wondered if the Doctor really was immortal or if she had finally died. Lewisite was very dangerous and not very well known. He wondered if John had figured out how to make the stuff on accident. The man sighed some as he worked, just making sure to administer the cure all carefully.

Then Bruce sat down and waited. He touched the chalk white skin, wincing as he felt how bony John was under his touch. He really should have taken better care of this man. He needed to eat, but Bruce figured that John just got so wrapped up with everything that he did that he just forgot. As much as he hated to admit it, Bruce wondered if he needed help. Maybe he could invite that Cyborg kid and see if he wanted to earn some extra money. Bruce waited for almost an hour before John stirred. The man cracked open one bleary eye and murmured something. Bruce didn't quite understand it, but he did wait for John to get up more. The man sighed softly.

John moaned, rolled out of bed, and vomited. But it seemed like there wasn't that much in his stomach, because all that came out were dry heaves. Bruce caught him and supported the man, talking softly to him and stroking his back. John whined a little bit. Going from the way he looked, Bruce was willing to say that John felt pretty bad.

"Don't scare me like that again," he softly said. Bruce eased another bit of a different cure down his mouth. This one would counter act the poison in his lungs. "Have you been on the internet again? Looking up that kook who invented dynamite and all the other things?" He hoped that John didn't understand parental controls, because yes, Safe Zone was spying, but it was for John's own good. He was also about to block that portion of the internet as well.

"Wanted to help you out," John murmured. He took the help demurely and whined softly when Bruce helped him into the bathroom. His legs were was wobbly as a newborn colt's. Bruce grimaced some. He wasn't sure what he could do to help him. "It's supposed to knock you out."

"I don't like poison gas," he replied. Bruce didn't know how to explain it. Just that it came from his father and all the stories that the man used to tell him. John nodded some. He did look very tired, but he still stayed on his feet. Bruce helped him get washed off some and then returned him to the bed. John stumbled a little as he walked. Bruce didn't like the look of this, but he hoped that it was just the concoction wearing off. He rolled his eyes some as he thought over what could happen from all of this. Bruce just hoped that he would be okay. He did. He really did.

But his gut feeling as he looked down at the sleeping man was that it wasn't about to be okay.


	7. Chapter 7

John didn't feel so good. He hadn't thought that the gas he'd made would have such horrid side effects. All of his research on poison gas hadn't said that the possible side effects were bloody, loose feces and horrible stomach cramps. He felt horrible and now he was confined to bed. The man sighed softly as he worried the blanket. His hand had healed perfectly. He glanced at it, watching as the light rolled across his smooth, perfect skin. It was as white as snow, yet it never burned when he went outside. John didn't know why. All the research he had done on the internet said that he should have burned like crazy. But he didn't and now he was forced to stay in bed until Bruce thought he was better.

Well, John knew his own body better than anyone. He rolled out of bed and immedietly fell to his knees. His entire body throbbed. And he started coughing, struggling to get up. He gritted his teeth some as he forced himself up. He was strong. He could _do_ this. He could get down to the first floor and he could help the butler out. He was bored and he needed something to do. Alfred was Bruce's friend. Maybe they could be friends and John could make it up to him for scaring him so much. Bruce had been so worried. John had heard that he could have been taken away from Bruce thanks to his little experiment. He had never wanted that to happen! He just wanted to help his friend out!

But, as Bruce said, actions had consequences. He had to own up to his actions once he was better and then he had to clean up his mess once he got better. But John had forgotten how to clean, if he ever knew, so that was why he had to talk to Alfred. John wobbled as he managed to stand up. He wobbled like a newborn colt as he tried to walk. He was having a hard time of it. His head was hurting him. Bruce must have thought that John actually followed orders. He had no idea that the nurses had been forced to keep him tied down to the bed. He was so good at escaping the bonds that they had been forced to put on him. John must have been a holy terror for him, but he really didn't care. He had hated being tied up and then he had tried to make their lives as hard as he could just because they had made him mad.

Walking down the stairs was the hardest thing he had ever done. John gritted his teeth as he stumbled down the stairs. He was breathing hard by the end of it and sweat slicked his bright green hair,. John managed to get down the stairs and across the hall before he fell in a heap. He landed hard, panting heavily. John was covered in sweat. He needed to get up. And he was tired. He was so, so tired. He needed to get up and get back to Alfred so they could be friends. He struggled to get to his feet, but it was so hard. He was struggling and his still damaged lungs were having a hard time getting oxygen down to him. He was having such a hard time and it was feeling like the world was swimming around him.

"Are you okay, young sir?" A grey haired man knelt beside him. Cool hands touched his forehead and strong arms helped him up. John was forced to lean on him. It felt bad, but he had to get up and he had to start walking.

"I'm fine," John mumbled. He grinned some and wobbled back to a table where the man was working on polishing silver. John smiled some. He loved how shiny the metal was and how cool and heavy it was in his hands. The doctors had never let John be around silver. And why would they? Why would a John Doe have any purpose in being around precious metal? And after all, he was supposed to be in a mental ward. And he also had to talk to a new therapist next week. This one he got to pick out, because the last one he had refused to see. He looked mean. This one was a lady and she looked much nicer. "Can I help you? The metal looks so pretty and I want to talk to someone."

The man gave him a little bit of a look. "Are you okay?"

"Well, my lungs hurt, but I'm fine!" John gave him a happy smile. He grabbed at the rag and looked at the stuff on the table. It was called Barkeep's Friend and it smelled horrid. He looked down at it and cocked his head some. "So you add water to this and you mix it up and you rub it on the silver. And then you wait for it to get better and then you wipe it off?"

"You're sharp." Alfred smiled at him. He settled beside him and offered him some of the silver pile. They started cleaning off the silver. It wasn't very hard and the motion was very soothing. He thought that he liked it. John was quiet as he worked. It made him feel better to do it and watch the stuff get cleaned off. He just liked doing it. Maybe he could get used to all of this and maybe Bruce would forgive him for hurting himself like that. He worked in a happy silence. It felt so good to get something done and he liked it. He really did like it and he just wanted to stay here... maybe forever.

And maybe Bruce would forgive him. A man could only hope.


	8. To Help You Out

Barbara was in college and that meant she was going to have issues with some of the classes. That was just a given. Bruce might have gone to college, but he had been put through school by his parent's fortune. That meant if was okay if he had failed a few classes (and he did--mostly freshman year). Barbara, though, was trying to do it by scholarship. She'd had no issues with high school. Indeed, one could argue that she had been bored with it. Barbara had had straight A's in all of her classes and made valedictorian. Now, that she was in her first year of college, things were starting to get a little bit rough. She wasn't going to be a chemist. In fact, Barbara was going to go into criminal justice.

That didn't mean that she didn't have to pass first year chemistry, though. Those were the weed out classes, designed to filter out the n'er-do-wells who were only there to take money out of daddy's pockets. Bruce had his own feelings about those kids. They were the trust fund kids, the ones that could do whatever they wanted too, regardless of the consequences. If Junior totaled a car, Daddy could get him a brand new Maserati within two weeks. Junior would never see the increased insurance bills nor would he ever go to the court date. Having a father who could pull the courts really did put you head and shoulders above all the rest. Bruce thought that he was fishing at least one of those kids out of the river every week.

Barbara sat at the kitchen table, biting her bottom lip. Pens and notebooks surrounded her, some filled with careful notes. She wasn't listening to her music, like she usually was, and that did cause Bruce  to look over at her. Was she having that much trouble with it? Barbara was a brilliant girl. Bruce just hoped that she wasn't going to drop the class. She had to take that class and two others in order to go onto her next year of classes. She was having no trouble at all with the ethics class or the calculus. It was just the chemistry that was killing her. Bruce paused from his dinner. He did watch John, making sure that the slightly unstable man was doing okay. John had picked up a love for shining the silverware. He was doing that constantly or he was trying to make his own chemistry set.

"This makes no sense!" Barbara looked up, clearly frustrated. "I've read this chapter three times already and nothing's making sense! I went to lecture, took notes, recorded the professor, _everything_ , but I'm just not getting this!" She rubbed her face and glared at the three of them. Mrs. Gordon just ignored her and kept on with the dishes. "I'm trying to figure out how sp orbital hybridization works, but either that's not really a thing or it's so much of a theory that they don't know how to put it into words."

John grabbed at the book and looked at it. "This is stupid," he announced. "I don't know what they're going on about here, but that's really not the whole story. I've read online wiki pages with much more detail than this. For example, they're missing alkyne triple carbon bonds, sigma-pi bonds, and equivalent-orbital models. This is very cute and all, but it's missing the meat of the information."

"You know, I'm here to get my A and go, so if the resident lunatic understands this better than my professor, than have at it." Barbara grabbed her notebook and a pen. Bruce tried to get himself from grinning. This was working far better than he had thought it would. As much as he wanted to help John settle in, there was only so much he could do. John and the others had to do some of the work, too. John grabbed the book back, read it a few times, and then slid it back. And then he started to talk. He was going on far more than the sprinkler of dubious facts meme was, too. John seemed to know just what he was talking about. Barbara wrote everything down, too. Now, she might have paused to fact check a few things, but she wrote the majority of it down.

Bruce was still in awe. He didn't quite know what to think of all of this, but he was still in awe of it. John was a genius and this showed it. Who else could have condensed all of that information down so quickly? Bruce knew that he couldn't have! He had still been forced to use all the study groups and even cheat sheets when he was in college. Barbara was going by the straight and narrow. She even had to work hard to keep her scholarship. Bruce shook his head some as he got up to put his dinner dishes in the sink. John really was something special.

He just wished he knew what the man was like before all of this.


	9. Chapter 9

John knew there was something wrong with him. What other man had snow white skin and bright green hair? What other man slept at night and woke up with bloody scratches on his hands? He didn't know why. He didn't know what else he was supposed to do when he woke up at night. He had bad dreams all the time, or so he thought. He woke up most nights drenched in a cold sweat. He didn't know what that was supposed to mean. He sighed softly. Was that a bad thing? A bad thing that he didn't know what was wrong with him? Bruce had given him a sort of injection in his neck. He said that it was a data-chip designed by someone named Diana. She was very smart, or so Bruce said. She did things to help him do his job.

Or so Bruce said. There were times when John wondered if Bruce was kissing Diana. He giggled softly, rocking back and forth in his bedding. He didn't want to sleep tonight. Mrs. Gordon had made something called a blueberry crumble that was full of all sorts of good things that he loved. This time, she used white sugar instead of brown, so it didn't taste _as_ good, but it was still very good and he liked it very much. That had been his dinner. He rubbed his belly some, resting against the headboard. He didn't think that he could do much else. The house was all dark and quiet right now. He liked it, too. John liked being the only one up. His fingers ghosted over the little lump on his neck. He didn't like it very much.

He buzzed. Was it with pain? He didn't know. There were little flashes that really hurt him, but he didn't think it was like that. Well, too much. It hurt. Then it went right back to where it usually was. He looked at the Tablet Bruce had once. It looked like every other Tablet, it was just thinner and black instead of silver. It was also password locked. Now, John understood that. He had all of his electronics password locked. They were also on some sort of security protocol, which the others didn't have. He knew this because he looked into Dick's room in a bad moment. He was looking a sort of picture that John couldn't look at. He always got the "Security Blocked" screen. Just like he got when he tried to access that Tablet.

John sighed again and tapped his leg on the headboard. He rather liked having the new pillow Bruce got him. He couldn't really feel pain, so if he squeezed himself at night (which happened if he had a nightmare), he might hurt himself. He'd cracked ribs like that. Once. It hurt him to breathe and he really didn't like that. He leaned back on the bedding, stroking the soft and silky pillow. It was called a body pillow and he was supposed to snuggle that at night instead of himself. He liked it. So far, he hadn't hurt himself. It seemed like it was helping. He was bored, though. He needed something to do. It wasn't like he was in that hospital again and he was locked in. They had had to go to a mixture of electronic and mechanical locks after he had learned how to pick both sorts of locks.

He slid out of bed and padded through the house. It was cool right now, with silver dripping through the windows and pooling on the floor. John smiled softly. He rather liked that. He also liked being able to sit on the window seats and look out into the gardens. The old manor wasn't anything like the warm houses he saw in that magazine. Then again, Gothman City wasn't in any sort of happy, warm city. It really was a cold, hard city and he wasn't sure that he liked very much. He huffed softly. Maybe they would move to the beach one day. John thought that he wanted to see the ocean. It looked like it would be very cool and very pretty, so he thought that it might be nice to go there.

He found the kitchen and opened up the fridge door. John did this to one of those mean doctors once. That man had poked him and prodded him all over. They had taken samples of his blood, gone through his hair, tied him up, did all sorts of things that he hated. So John had started trying to get his revenge on the man. Was it petty? Yes. But John was okay with being petty. He was completely okay with doing crazy things that made people mad if he felt better over it. This was just going to be because he was going to have fun with it. He smiled softly and grabbed whipped cream and the pie pan. Now, it was almost a crime for him to waste something so good like this, but the reaction was going to be so fun.

John filled the pans in the kitchen. That way, the noise wouldn't wake everyone up. He didn't need them to be woken up right now. He just needed to get this done so he could go upstairs again. He grinned just a little bit as he crept right back upstairs. He left all three of the pans in front of Dick's room. This was going to be so fun when he woke up tomorrow to the sweet sounds of a teenage boy screaming like a small child. He allowed himself a little bit of a grin as he left them arranged _just so_ that Dick would have little choice but to walk through all three of them. He grinned even more and tried to choke back the giggles. This was going to be so awesome, wasn't it?

Who said that he had to be good?


	10. Who Cut the Lights?

The first time it happened, Bruce honestly couldn't say that he was surprised. Living in Gotham City taught you one thing: power outages were going to happen and there wasn't much you could do about it. It was just a fact of life and one of the reasons why almost everyone had a gas tank and a generator that could pull about a thousand kilowatts. There were all sorts of villains who liked to attack the main power grid, mostly because the houses had a five minute period where the generator was turned on and actually started powering the house. Places like hospitals and prisons had at least three generators on standby 24/7/365. Bruce liked to think he was that important, but he had one of the newer models that was supposedly better for the environment and took longer to cut on.

However, it also cut his monthly carbon emissions down to a third, so he was willing to make the trade off. It wasn't like the food in the freezer would spoil if the power was out for ten minutes rather than being out for five. The one thing that might be annoying was the WiFi cutting out and Dick complaining because he couldn't play his VR game. Bruce laughed softly to himself as he got up from the table. He figured that John was fine. The man had been well known for spending most of his time in complete darkness, mostly because he said the light hurt his eyes. Thankfully, he had healed from whatever had happened to him, but he still kept the lights dimmed.

There was a reason why Bruce had his rooms wired with Alexa control devices and gave him an Echo Dot, just so he could keep things down to the preferred level. It was like living in perpetual twilight, but Bruce thought it was better than John being forced to hurt his eyes. Just as long as he read by lamp light, that was all Bruce was asking. The man sighed softly as he went down to the basement. Diana had said that she was coming over later that day to discuss something about her project with a German scientist. Something about trying to cure cancer. Knowing Diana, she and the woman had gotten to talking about battles in the First World War, so Bruce thought that he had some time.

He grabbed a flash light and headed downstairs. Ever since the gas incident, John had tended to avoid this, so Bruce didn't have to walk as loudly as he usually did. John jumped if you sneaked up on him. He didn't like it and it wasn't funny to see the man panic, no matter what Dick said. Bruce set his jaw as he walked down the wooden stairs. He needed to get these things fixed before he fell and broke his neck. Or Mrs. Gordon fell. If she fell, Bruce knew he could never forgive himself. He cursed under his breath as he swung the light around. Something moved and he could smell something that made him truly gag. Bruce started running forwards. He'd only smelled something like that once in his life, when a young hero got caught in power lines.

That young man died. He'd been in too much pain to phase out of danger. John didn't have that option.

"John! _Don't move_!" The basement seemed to stretch around him and Bruce didn't care what he said as he ran over to the circuit box. His heart pounded in his chest as he ran, trying to find his ward. He couldn't let John get hurt. Couldn't. Couldn't let him get taken away because he'd gotten hurt here... Bruce raced over there and saw the limp form of his friend. It looked like he'd been tossed clear across the room from the force. Bruce pulled John into his lap, ignoring the blood all over his wrists. On second thought, that wasn't a good idea. First and second degree burns could bleed. That was one of the ways nurses knew how bad a burn was, if it was bleeding or if it had sealed off.

John turned his head weakly towards Bruce and moaned softly. "I-I tried, Brucie..." He coughed violently and looked down at his bleeding hands. "I-it... it was really strong..."

"When the power goes out, let the generator handle it!" Bruce hissed. He didn't want to sound that harsh, but he was scared and he didn't want to lose his friend. He swore under his breath and started getting him back up the stairs. John just moaned and flopped over him. That wasn't good. That just meant that whatever was wrong with him had been knocked for a loop. Like what happened when that Cable guy was hit with an EMP burst. That one had been on the news for a good three weeks. They never caught the guy who did it.

"Wanted to help..." John muttered. He let Bruce manhandle him into one of the chairs. Bruce was just about to get the first aid kit when he heard the telltale footsteps of a certain Warrior princess. Bruce slumped back. This was going to be so fun, wasn't it?

Diana stopped into the kitchen. "Bruce? What's going on here? Who's this man and why is he burned?"

John gave her a wave with his bloody hands. To her credit, Diana stayed calm. John looked her up and down some. "Who're you?"

"Diana Prince, here to talk about funding." She marched over and grabbed the kit from his hands. "Here, let me do this. I have some better burn cream than this. I swear, we just need to pass the FDA and we'll change the world of medicine. Offering lower cost, higher quality medications to communities in need... what better thing to do when you're tired of covering war in the Middle East?"

"So what prompted the change?" Bruce cut bandages as asked. He figured that Diana would know what to do better than he would.

"Try not having a psychopath threaten to kill your son and your husband's murderer being brought to justice?" Diana suggested. She finished John off and gave him a gentle smile. Then her face changed. "I...found something. You need to see it. It's... It's important."

Bruce was getting a bad feeling about this, but he shrugged and let Diana lead him to a private meeting room. He had no idea what she had found. No idea. And nothing could have prepared him.


	11. Chapter 11

It hurt, but the cream smelled link mint and coconut, so that was nice. The lady was nice, too. She had warm dark eyes and smooth olive skin, Her dark hair fell in ringlets down her back and she had such a nice smile that he couldn't help smile back at her. She was a nice lady. Her hands were strong and sure as she rubbed the milky cream into his hands. John watched her with curious golden eyes. He thought that he liked this lady. This... Diana Prince. She seemed scary, though. Like she had a secret power that he didn't know about it. John wasn't quite sure that he wanted to know about that power, though. He thought it might scare him and he didn't like being scared.

Dick liked a new movie called _The Nun_. John watched five minutes of that one before he started his high, nervous laugh. The laugh he always made when he was scared or in pain. He must have made it a lot...before. It was like he could slip into it at the drop of a hat and he wasn't sure if he liked that or not. The man fidgeted some and watched as those two went out to another room. He didn't want to see them go, but he needed to wait on his burns to heal. The cream seemed to tingle some as he waited on them to get back. What if she was going to hurt Bruce? He might have been weak as a kitten, but he could still fight. What if those Roomba things had weapons welded to them? Maybe in a place he couldn't see?

He needed to look into those things. Making the Roomba bots weapons. Maybe Bruce would like that? Maybe he thought that he was going to be hurt by this Diana lady? He didn't know if he liked her or not. She might have looked kind, but John knew all to well that she might have looked kind and that meant nothing. One of the doctors at the asylum had been nice, but he had been a nasty man who hurt others. There had been a former Air Force pilot there, a man who knew some of what he was, and that man had scared him. Something had been done to Major that made him lose himself. John hoped his friend was okay and he could talk to him. Maybe he would know things about losing all of one's memory that Bruce didn't.

He must have waited alone for hours. Several times, he heard Bruce yelling, but he had heard that before. Maybe his sports team was losing. Or maybe he was just mad about something. Or someone on the council, whatever that was, had done something stupid and Bruce needed to calm down. Or he was dealing with those strange alien creatures who fed off of fear and worked with alien war lords. Bruce wasn't scared of them and they liked John. John thought they looked creepy and tried to leave them alone. They were, though, very strong and very brave so they could help when things went bad. Like when the monster from the Quantum Realm showed up. The one that had been formed by some planet at the center of their universe.

The strange aliens had been needed to kill him. Or send him home. Or maybe even both. But many of the aliens had died in the fight and as a reward, they had been given a place called Centralia to live. Just as long as they put out the massive coal fires underground first. They did, too. John liked to watch them on the news as they talked about how they had put out the flames with a special kind of gas. He thought that Bruce should use that gas because it put out a massive hundred year old fire without destroying the environment. Well, more than it had already been destroyed by a hundred years worth of fires, but the point still stood. The aliens had good things and Bruce should learn how to use them.

And if Bruce didn't then John would because John didn't like it when Bruce came home smelling like smoke and flames. It... well, it scared him. What if Bruce died in the line of duty and he had to go back to that horrid hospital? What would happen then? How would he ever cope? Would he be like Major and basically watch the sky outside and sing about flying and G-Force? John shuddered as he thought of what might happen. He didn't want to go back. He couldn't go back. It would kill him. He might be hard to kill and he knew that one insane person had tried, but he knew they could kill him. The people there hadn't wanted to help him. He'd just been another warm body to get tax dollars.

He had to get Major out. Maybe Bruce could make room for one more. Major was nice. He wasn't violent, but he had an odd stare that said he knew a lot of things that no one else did. Like he stared into the Void and the Void stared back. Whatever that meant.

Bruce came out of his room, looking shaken. He suddenly grabbed a very surprised John and that made the little bone needles in his arms very happy, so it felt like he was being stabbed and sliced many times over. Again. He squeaked and tried to pull away, but it took him a second to realize that Bruce was crying and saying things that John couldn't hear. John froze and gave Diana a look. He wanted out of this but he didn't know what was going on. It scared him. He didn't like it. The man almost laughed again, but Bruce pulled himself away and rubbed at his face. John cocked his head. He didn't know why Bruce was acting like that. Did his team lose? Did he need something?

Bruce pulled away and gave him an almost broken look. "I'm sorry."

"Okay?" John shrugged and went back to messing with his tablet. He didn't even know why Bruce was sorry or why it was so important.


	12. Talking

Bruce didn't know how he could do it. He didn't know how he could talk to John and act like everything was normal. He had seen everything. All they had done to him. The torture. The acids they had doused him in. The dogs that had attacked him. The bones that had been shattered over and over again. The first thing the chemicals had done was accelerate his healing ability. They could shatter his bones over and over again, just to watch whoever John was writhe and scream. They had even doused John's body with hot grease. Bruce didn't know if he was ever going to be able to eat again. Not after what he had seen. He knew that Diana had seen some of it. She didn't know what he had gone through, though. Not all of it.

John cocked his head like a hunting dog and walked over. The pain sensor in his neck was off the charts, though. Did he just not register the pain? If he didn't, Bruce was going to need to watch him. He could act like a pit bull and just push himself until he keeled over. Bruce didn't think that he could forgive himself if that happened. Especially if John got taken back to the hospital. Bruce shuddered to think of John going back there. They needed to get him a therapist, too. Bruce rubbed his face, trying to get his mind wrapped around everything. He bit his bottom lip, watching as John fidgeted and walked around. The man, with his acid green hair, was something that just made you want to cry.

"What's wrong?" John softly asked. He covered one of Bruce's hands with his own. The nails were twisted and cracked. They were the nails of a mad man, bitten off and made bloody more than once. Some of them had scabbed over and not in good ways. Bruce winced. He needed to get those hands looked at before something really bad happened. He couldn't afford to get John hurt like this. He sighed softly and rubbed his face. "Are you okay, Brucie? Am I okay? Did I do something bad?" There was a horrible look on his face after a few seconds. "Do I have to go back to the hospital?"

"No!" Bruce couldn't help himself. He snapped it and made the man jerk back. He just needed to do something better for John, not scare him. He rubbed his face, cursing under his breath. The last thing he needed to do was make this problem even worse. They could take John back if they thought he was going to abuse the man. Bruce tried not to lose anything else. He just tried to soothe John, which did help. It made the man calm down much more. John actually smiled at that. Bruce smiled back to him. John just sighed and basically sat in his lap before singing little nonsense ditties. Bruce wondered where he got those from. Was it from his mind? Or did he remember it?

"Do you remember any nursery rhymes?" Bruce quietly asked. He could tell this could go badly, but he just needed to ask. He thought he could hear the tune 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star' in there, but he wasn't sure. John shrugged some and sang a little softer. This time, he had his hands splayed out and was looking at the nails. Bruce sighed softly and tried to get his attention. "Do you remember anything from before?"

"Before what?"

"Before the hospital," Bruce quietly replied. He didn't know what else to say. Just that he needed to know. He needed to know what his... well, John was like his son now, remembered from before all of this. "Do you remember anything before the hospital?" He hoped that John really didn't know anything about how he had been tortured and abused.

"I remembered snow," John shrugged. He sighed softly and reached for the phone Bruce had. Bruce let him take it. "That's it. And then it's the hospital and then it's you. Why? Is it really important?"

John really had no idea and Bruce couldn't tell him why.

"No reason," he quietly said. Bruce just sighed and let John curl up in his lap. Bruce really didn't know how he could tell John without letting him know about the videos. If he did that.... Bruce knew that he might lose John forever. And he couldn't let that happen.


	13. Chapter 13

Bruce said he needed some sort of mind doctor. John didn't know why he needed one. He was getting along quite fine as it was. He just sometimes had these little fits that filled him with dread and made him puke all over the place. John never could remember what happened to trigger those, nor did he really care to know. He just didn't want to sit on some couch and spill his guts to some stuffy old doctor. John never had talked to anyone before, not even at the hospital. He just didn't like to think about this sort of thing. What if he got taken away? What if he had to go back to the hospital again? John didn't want to have to go back and that was a big reason why he didn't want to talk to Doctor Rose.

She looked nice enough, with her soft blue eyes and her soft blonde hair. John decided that he didn't like the woman very much. She escorted him into a warm looking room. John liked the soft amber walls, the long drapes, the pretty colored furniture, all of it. It looked like a sitting room at Bruce's house, not like a doctor's office. It didn't like one of those places where it was all the whites and chromes. It was very warm, with soft lighting. John sat down on the soft chair, running his hands over the tassels. This place didn't feel mean. It felt very nice, but he still didn't like being here. His hands played over the strange bump under his skin. Whenever he touched it, Bruce always looked at his tablet.

"Hello, John. I'm Doctor Rose Kowalczyk. Your friend Bruce Wayne said that you might need to talk with me. I'm not going to report anything to him, so you can be honest with me." Rose smiled, her gaze warm. John still didn't like her. She might have looked nice, but that didn't mean she _was_ nice. Some of the meanest nurses at the hospital looked like they were the nice ones. John had learned that one the hard way. How was he supposed to know that they probably had issues, too? He thought they were there to help people like them. Or, at least, that was what the paper on the lobby table said. The nurses were supposed to be kind and friendly to the patients, not yell at them if they wanted to get up at three am.

"I don't know you." John hunched over, his normally wild eyes clearly not trusting the woman. "I don't think I should trust you. What if you're mean? What if you tell him things anyways and I have to go back? I don't want to go back!" John felt his panic soar and before his eyes, the scene changed from warm room to some place cold and damp. Men circled him. They looked vicious and as he watched, their faces twisted and morphed into something hideous. John keened. He didn't think he could get away! Wet ropes bound him to a cold steel chair and he thought he felt the blood. It took him a second to realize that pain was only coming from one place. It wasn't wrapped all around him, pulsing and throbbing.

"John? John? Can you hear me?"

Someone was talking. John didn't know who. He just squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the end. A white hot pain blossomed in his chest and he screamed when he saw the men hitting his ribs, over and over again. John tried to scream. He didn't want to be here! He could feel hands on him and he twisted around, trying to get free. The ropes seemed to twist into flames as he sat there. John was powerless to do anything about it. The heat soared and he screamed as the fire bit through his skin and raised burns. The ropes twisted, glowing red hot and burning his skin even more. John thought he could hear the screaming as he twisted and thrashed around.

Where was he? Who were the people hurting him? Why did they think he had something? Why did they think he was a criminal? He lived with _Batman_! He lived with _Bruce Wayne_ of all people! The same man who did background checks on Superman to make sure he wouldn't hurt his family! The man who made sure that all of Dick's friends were on the right path so Dick would have a good life! If he was a criminal, John was pretty sure that Batman wouldn't let him live in his house and eat his food! The man cried out again, this time as the burns transformed themselves into a sinking white acid that left pain and white flesh in its wake. They were making him a monster, the men said. If he wouldn't talk, they would find a use for him...

"John!"

A stinging slap drew him out of the nightmare and it all vanished like nothing had ever happened. John looked at himself, not sure why this woman was looking at him with such concern in her eyes. It took him a few minutes, but he just smiled. John thought he could smell something burning. He looked around, seeing nothing, and finally shrugged some. Why did she look so concerned? Why did Doctor Rose look at him like he could just collapse at any second? The woman did look nice, though. But she was so worried. She looked like she was hurting for something he did and try as he might, John just couldn't figure out _why_. He hadn't been bad, had he?

"Am I in trouble?" John softly asked. He took her hand. "Why are you crying?"

"I've never seen a case of PTSD this bad before," the young woman replied. "Why don't you sit down and talk about it?"

"Okay," John agreed. What could it hurt?


	14. A Mission Change

Bruce hadn't thought that John would freak out the way he did. He didn't even remember what he'd seen, so they couldn't bring it up for therapy. Bruce felt like he needed a stiff drink or a good fight to clear his mind. Sadly, it wasn't like he could go out and fight Steppenwolf or any of his Parademons. After he was rather forcibly deported back to Apokolips, Steppenwolf had indicated that he was free of whatever made him go mad and he was trying to deal with the homeworld his father left in total chaos. From what Bruce understood, Steppenwolf's father and brothers basically ran a powerful planet into the ground and sent Steppenwolf on a fool's errand until he met a... _something_ that made him go mad that way. He compared it to a Hunger Dog (Bruce had no idea what _that_ was) getting drunk.

Bruce wished him luck. He didn't envy the man anything, nor did he mind that the Amazons had started sending things to help. It turned out that the Parademons were more like pranksters and didn't always understand what they were doing could kill or seriously injure anyone not borderline immortal. Bruce remembered fighting those things and shuddered. If what they did in Gotham was playing, he hated to see what would happen if they started actually trying to wage war. He had a feeling that it wouldn't go very well on Earth. He just hoped that the boom tube wouldn't open up again and he would have to use an entirely different language to tell the intergalactic equivalent of a stupid teenager to _go home_. 

He leaned back in the Bat Mobile and waited for something to pop up on the police blotter. If he had too, he would go into the Suicide Slum. Even Superman didn't venture in there unless he had too, but Bruce needed to get in a fight with something. He had no idea what had been done to John. He wished he could do something better to help the man, but he knew he couldn't. All he could do was try to get him the help he needed. The therapy, the things he needed, the place to rest where it was just him and no one else... Well, it was the best money could buy. Bruce just helped that the fancy doctor was as good as her Google review said she was. Maybe she would help John with his issues.

The blotter went off and Batman took off. From what he knew, there was a robbery going on at the jewelers on the corner of 4th Street and Wesson. Bruce had been there before, it wasn't the best place around, but it would pay pretty good for things he'd gotten illegally and didn't ask questions. This late at night, there wasn't anyone on the streets. Bruce ripped through the streets, hugging the curves and eating the curb more than once. The AI in his car fussed at him, but he ignored it. Bruce went over the tools of his trade and concluded that he had more than enough for dealing with a robber. With all the things he had right now, he could probably take on something with fire power.

Bruce stashed his car in a dark alley and raced to the shop. He could tell that it wasn't just a human, that he was dealing with someone else right now. Bruxe cursed under his breath, right as he ran into the exile known as Sleez. The green skinned alien was holding a bag of gold jewelry and laughing like a maniac. Bruce rolled his eyes behind his mask and fire a net at him. Sleez dropped the bag and grabbed a blaster gun. Well. This was going to be fun, because Bruce had one of those, too. It paid having friends who were "out of this world". He ducked behind a sturdy looking case and fired at the man. Sleez cursed loudly. He jumped back and slung a smoke grenade at him. Bruce pretended like he was coughing, but air filters were a wonderful thing.

"Give it up, Batman!" Sleez crowed. He walked through the cloud of smoke, sending bursts of fire randomly through the room. Bruce stayed still. He could see the infrared signature the man was giving off. And if he just tried something with his new toy... Bruce understood that Sleez would miss a thin blue laser cutting through the smoke and he grinned when he heard the blaster explode in Sleez's hands. The alien screamed. "You cheating devil! That's not fair!"

"It's not fair that you're stealing an honest man's wages," Bruce slowly said. He stepped out where the man could see him. Sleez froze, but there was something wild in his dark grey eyes. Sleez looked like he'd taken a turn for the worst, too. He was much thinner now and his green skin was sallow and wan. There was also a wild glint in his eyes that made Bruce back up a little bit.

Sleez shrugged. "They should have better security and I should be paid for doing this. You know, as a public service."

"The last "public service" you did was blowing up a mall," Bruce snapped. There was something that told him he needed to turn around, that there was about to be big trouble, but he ignored it. "Drop the shiny objects, Sleez. This isn't your style. I guess running an illegal casino and fleecing teenager superheroes into thinking the world hates them is, but this isn't an improvement." Well, at least no one was dead. Yet. Sleez might have been a general pain, but it seemed that he didn't actually have that much of a stomach for murder. If he was working with others, though, he pretty much did what he wanted when he wanted and screw the consequences. "Unless you want to go back to living in the sewers..."

"Oh, I've lived in worse." Sleez gave him a nasty smile. "The failed prince won't be able to fix Apokolips, you know. He's going to get bored and he'll leave the slums just the way they are. I'm sure his rebuilding project was all just for show. And besides that... he tried to kill you."

"He also gave us the boom tube technology and a few mother boxes to deal with." Though those had been more hassle than they were worth. Bruce wondered if Steppenwolf was trying to get rid of his scrap junk at times. He also had a habit of throwing humans who had wound up on his homeworld back on Earth. Some of them had gone completely insane ("General" Zahl who spent the entire day screaming about his girlfriend and WWII era Germany) and others... were too smart. Smart enough that they just vanished and only showed up once something was going horribly wrong.

Sleez snorted. "Oh please. Next he'll be giving you all the humans back. And then he'll drop every last Hunger Dog, Parademon, Dreg, and Mindless on your doorstep because he just can't take care of them. Or he'll give you diamonds because he's so amused by how you humans fight over them. Give me a break!"

"Alright." Bruce pointed his glove at the man and pressed the trigger. Sleez's eyes went very wide and he was just about to say something... before Bruce heard a wild yell. He jerked around to see what it was, only to find John running from the police. He looked back to Sleez, only to find the man was gone. And then Bruce had John climbing up his body.

He didn't have time to think now. They just had to _go_.


End file.
